


Obey

by flinchflower



Series: The 50kinkyways [42]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Collars, Locked up, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2011-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 04:14:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 41: Locked up.  Sam asks Dean be harsh, to relieve stress, and disobeys Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obey

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed the characters originally so I could use them as a writing exercise, to see how close I could get the characterization. Then I was corrupted by porn. And kink. Here’s a side of kink. This is simply for practice, not publication or profit. I’m in the hole by about 30 grand, if you’d like to seize my debt as punishment. AU in that I refuse to admit the death of John Winchester.

Sam’s been pissy, but trying not take it out on Dean. Dean knows, even though Sam thinks he doesn’t, and he’s appreciative, been musing about what might snap the boy out of it. Tonight they’re on the backside of nowhere, waiting for Bobby to drive down with a part for the Impala tomorrow.

Sam throws himself face first onto the bed, and Dean hesitates, then sits down beside him. He puts a tentative hand on Sam’s lower back, and the boy turns to look at him.

“You want to play?”

Sam considers. “Maybe.”

“I’m up for it. I’m not subbing, though. Your choice, otherwise. I’m gonna get a soda, be back in five.”

Sam hands one of his wider collars to Dean first. “I want it hard. I want the handcuffs – cuff my hands behind my back. I don’t want to be spanked – use this instead.” Dean takes the wooden paddle from him, impressed. He’s not kidding – it’s a serious, heavy paddle that he’s only used on Sam once. “I’m serious Dean, I want it hard.”

“The punishment, or the sex? I thought we weren’t going to use the handcuffs again – I didn’t like how upset you got.”

“Both. And I don’t care if you didn’t like it. I want it. You said my choice.”

“I did. Go clean up and prep yourself, then.” He watches as the boy goes off to the bathroom, lube in hand, and sighs to himself. He likes a rough session himself, usually when he’s in the same mood Sam is, so he understands. Sam’s out shortly, comes to stand in front of him, radiating attitude. Well, that’ll put Dean in the mood quick enough. He reaches out and forces the boy to his knees, loving the look on his face – defiant and hot.

“Drop the attitude,” he growls, and the glimmer in Sam’s eyes grows. “Now get on the bed.” The boy doesn’t move. Bad move, Sam. Dean goes to throw him there, bodily, and the kid fights back. Damn it. Dean’s temper surfaces as he pins the boy on the bed.

“You. Know. Better.” He bites the words off, lets them fill with his anger. “I’ll always give you what you want, what you need, Sam, but you’re gonna be one sorry little shit, screwing with me like that – that’s not part of the deal. I’m gonna tell you right now – you want anything from me in the next week, you’ll do it with your collar on, and I’m gonna spank your ass beforehand. As a matter of fact, I think I’ll spank you every night before we go to sleep. You do not fuck with me with that collar on, even if you want it hard, and you’re gonna know it by the time the week is out.” Sam’s eyes are wide, and he’s nervous now, his mood gone. “You still want it hard, Sam?” The boy gulps, thinks a minute, then nods. He slaps the kid’s face, enjoying the shock there. “Good.”

Dean hauls the kid to his feet, slams him against the wall, slaps the cuffs on his wrists. Then he pushes him roughly down over the desk, kicks his feet apart, and lights in with the paddle. Sam’s gasping within the first dozen swats, and Dean doesn’t stop until Sam’s ass is a pleasant crimson, stippled with darker spots that indicate that if he goes further, the paddle will break the skin. He stands Sam upright with a jerk, facing him.

“Get my jeans off.” Sam’s on his knees, fumbling, not able to see for the tears in his eyes. Once he’s finished, he throws the boy on the bed, facedown, drags the trembling hips up into the right position. A few quick jerks with his hand and some lube has Dean hard as a rock and ready to go, and he lines up, drives his cock into Sam with a quick thrust, and sees stars – Sam’s tight – too tight, and the kid’s whole body is shaking. Fuck.

He reaches up, gets a handful of Sam’s hair and yanks his head back so he can see the boy’s face. “Did you prep yourself like I told you to?”

“No-“ The word is a gasp, and Dean has to breathe for a minute, to still the anger he feels. “You just earned yourself a month in your collar, Samuel.”

Sam’s lower lip juts out. “Don’t stop.” Dean is incredulous. He carefully withdraws from Sam. Sam opens his mouth, but Dean’s yanking him up by the collar, glad that Sam’s wearing one wide enough it won’t damage him. He hauls the kid into the bathroom, and turns the shower on him, freezing cold. “Stay,” he snarls, stalking out. How could Sam risk hurting himself like that? How could he not understand how Dean would feel, if that happened?

Sam’s crying when he goes back in after calming down. Dean cranks the water off, hauls the shivering boy out. He leads him over to the mirror, picks up his belt. “Look at yourself. He smacks the red ass with the belt twice, then whips him over, slams him down in a chair, glad to see the wince. “Now look at me.” He reaches up, unbuckles the collar, and holds it up.

“Do you want this? Do you want me to play with you this way?”

There’s no hesitation. “Yes. Yes, sir,” Sam says, and Dean hears hope in the last word.

“If I put this back on you, you never, ever, disobey me willfully like that again. You wearing this – it’s not about you disobeying me willfully. You want to have an attitude problem with me when we’re playing, you do it without the goddamn collar, understand me?”

“Y-yes, Dean- Dean, I’m sor-“

“Don’t you tell me you’re sorry. You planned that.” Dean’s voice is harsh. “You know what? We’re not gonna go back to playing tonight. You’re gonna do a little something different.” He grabs a towel, stands Sam up and dries him off. Debating, Dean cranks the heat up in the room. Then he sits the kid down on a dry towel, watching as he winces at the rough touch on his sensitized ass. He fishes out Sam’s proper collar, lays it on the table in front of him, lights a candle and sits it in the center of the collar. “You’re gonna spend the night locked up, looking at that, and thinking about things. I’ll ask you again in the morning.” He adjusts the cuffs to make sure they’re not too tight, linked through chair. Sam’s looking panicked. Dean just goes to bed, is asleep within minutes.

Sam’s facing the bed, and when Dean wakes in the morning, his eyes light on the candle and Sam’s swollen, tearstained face. The tracks of the tears reflect the light, the dark brown of the collar before him. After a minute, he unlocks Sam’s hands, sits down across from him, folding his hands, expression serious. The boy just looks at him with wrecked, reddened eyes.

“I meant what I said last night. You submit to me, you submit. You want to play defiance, you make that clear, otherwise I’ll punish you. If you put this collar on, you’re wearing it for a month. You like to talk so much, you’ll be doing it every night until I get to the bottom of what’s going on with you. If you put this collar on, I’m gonna spank you every night this goddamn week, and maybe beyond, because you fucked up bigtime last night, between fighting me, and not prepping yourself. Now you tell me what it’ll be.”

Sam picks up the collar with trembling hands, and hands it to his brother. “P-please, I want this, Dean.” Dean nods, stands up, walks around and buckles it onto Sam’s neck. He takes a long look at the boy, quietly asks him to look up, and reiterates the rules they worked out between them. Not many, really. Sam obeys without question, if he screws it up, he’s punished, and when the collar’s on, he doesn’t speak unless asked a direct question. The collar is bucked on. Quietly, he retrieves a damp washcloth from the bathroom, bathes Sam’s face with it, makes sure there’s no blood on the towel Sam was seated on. Sam’s fine, so Dean breathes deeply, lays down on the bed, beckons Sam to lay down in his arms.

“You’re going to sleep, Sam, until Bobby gets here.”

“Yessir,” comes the whisper, and then all there is in the room is the sound of the boys breathing, feeling each other’s warm skin, each in his own way feeling something healing inside of them, though it will be a long time before either of them will be able to define just what was broken, and how it was fixed.


End file.
